Phone call from home. (03/27/06)
Some of you may already know, but for those that do not, my Grandmother Lang passed away Wednesday night (Thursday for me) from a stroke. My Grandmother and I were quite close to each other and have been since as far back as I can remember. I couldn’t have been further away from where I wanted to be then when my mother called to tell me. My first thoughts were about the last time I saw her almost 5 years ago just after my graduation, we sat next to each other while we all ate lunch in a pub near the school. We talked more than we ate. We were good at talking.
I cant explain the range of feelings associated with wanting to be somewhere else so bad it burns inside your skull all the while knowing that you just can’t leave where you are. I made phone calls and checked flights…thought about what she would want from me, even though I felt I knew what she would say if asked.. I quickly but not painlessly made the decision to stay here in Pakistan. I could write all day and night about why I stayed and none of it matters more than this. I am, with out a doubt, sure that she would want nothing less than for me to leave this job unfinished on her account. I would be going for me not for her, and that, I feel would serve only to irritate her to no end. She is finally back with my Grandfather and free from the crushing weight of Alzheimers. I know my family shares these feelings with me and anyone who has had a family member suffer from this disease also understands. Alzheimers took her from us long before the stroke did.
I sat in my room Thursday night wondering what was right and what was selfish, I talked to my family and my co-workers here and I am confident I made the right decision. None of which lessens the pain of having missed her funeral.
I have little doubt that I writing this more for me than anyone else so I will allow myself a few more moments of remembrance.
My grandmother helped raise me when my family was split from coast to coast for military reasons, she gave me the appreciation for a great many things: sweet tea, real fried chicken, homemade pumpkin pie, eating ice cream after dinner regardless of the weather, Bourbon when I was almost old enough and most embarrassingly, that a pre-teen boy with a big mouth and no sense was not too big to be put into place by a tiny red headed woman of unequaled determination. My parents taught me not to talk back, on that afternoon, my grandmother showed me why.
I would pay dearly for the chance to have one last conversation with her. I really would.
I cant explain the range of feelings associated with wanting to be somewhere else so bad it burns inside your skull all the while knowing that you just can’t leave where you are. I made phone calls and checked flights…thought about what she would want from me, even though I felt I knew what she would say if asked.. I quickly but not painlessly made the decision to stay here in Pakistan. I could write all day and night about why I stayed and none of it matters more than this. I am, with out a doubt, sure that she would want nothing less than for me to leave this job unfinished on her account. I would be going for me not for her, and that, I feel would serve only to irritate her to no end. She is finally back with my Grandfather and free from the crushing weight of Alzheimers. I know my family shares these feelings with me and anyone who has had a family member suffer from this disease also understands. Alzheimers took her from us long before the stroke did.
I sat in my room Thursday night wondering what was right and what was selfish, I talked to my family and my co-workers here and I am confident I made the right decision. None of which lessens the pain of having missed her funeral.
I have little doubt that I writing this more for me than anyone else so I will allow myself a few more moments of remembrance.
My grandmother helped raise me when my family was split from coast to coast for military reasons, she gave me the appreciation for a great many things: sweet tea, real fried chicken, homemade pumpkin pie, eating ice cream after dinner regardless of the weather, Bourbon when I was almost old enough and most embarrassingly, that a pre-teen boy with a big mouth and no sense was not too big to be put into place by a tiny red headed woman of unequaled determination. My parents taught me not to talk back, on that afternoon, my grandmother showed me why.
I would pay dearly for the chance to have one last conversation with her. I really would.
posted by davidlang at 12:13 AM
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